Of Thieves and Heroes
by Havalubee
Summary: Just because you're a bad guy doesn't mean you're a bad... guy, right? Right! Art Longfingers is the most famous thief in all Middle-earth. Most important of all, no one suspects that she's a woman. One night, she makes the fateful decision of stealing from the wizard Gandalf. What would happen to her when he convinces her to join him in a journey she wants no part of?


**THESE ARE IMPORTANT NOTES, REMINDERS AND POINTERS. IT IS HIGHLY RECOMMENDED THAT YOU READ THROUGH ALL OF THIS BEFORE CONTINUING.**

**A/N: This is a Tenth Walker story, but it will not follow the story line as much as it would at the end of the story. Everything will still happen, but as the story point of view revolves around the protagonist's eyes, you will see the things that she does and contributes to the war.**

**This is NOT a Mary-Sue fiction. I hate Mary-Sues, and did everything I could to ensure that my character is NOT a Mary-Sue. However, she is somewhat special, because the rest of the Nine Walkers are also quite significant before their journey.**

**There's romance later in the story, but there isn't anything extreme.**

**I did my best to keep everybody in character, and I like adding description. **

**This fanfiction does follow the book and the movie at the same time. I have included scenes and descriptions that are found in the books, because I actually read Tolkien, but I adore the movies too.**

**There are probably going to be deleted scenes: scenes that I wrote but did not add into the story itself. I might upload those when they correspond to time the story is in.**

**Line breaks will symbolize time breaks. There will be no change in point of view.**

**I will be replying to reviews if the answer and question benefits all readers. Other than that, I will PM the reviewer and give him or her my thanks. Further author's notes will be postponed until the end of the chapter.**

**Rating: This is an M rated story, because there will be blood, violence, and adult themes (alcohol and smoking).**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything Tolkien related or any of the Lord of the Rings Movie scripts. I do not financially benefit from this story whatsoever. All rights go to Middle-earth Enterprises. This will be my only disclaimer in the story because it applies to every aspect of it. I own my OCs, of course.**

**Lastly, review! I don't care if you hate the story, but if you want to tell me, tell me why and point out things I could make better. That's called constructive criticism. Ever heard of it?**

**Without further delay, I present to you:**

* * *

**~oOo~ Chapter 1-When a Thief Meets a Wizard ~oOo~**

* * *

Art traveled quietly through the darkening streets of Minas Tirith. Her mind raced wildly, multiple thoughts, feelings and ideas filtering in her head. She withdrew a note from her cloak's inner pocket with long, slender fingers, holding it up to the light from the rapidly setting sun. The paper was thin, old and folded too many times. The lettering, to most, was incomprehensible, but for Art, it was read as clear as day.

_Tonight, there will be a wizard staying in the Old Guesthouse. Rumor has it that he holds a considerable amount of riches. Ask for his room, and you will be told the answer once you ask him the secret question. He is a powerful wizard. Be very careful._

Art frowned. A wizard; that was new. She'd stolen from nobles, artisans, and even Lord Denethor himself. She was a master thief, a professional, and her stealth and sneakiness caused the men of Gondor to give her a name.

_Longfingers._

Art Longfingers, she mused. A fitting name for the best thief in Gondor. That wasn't all, though. She'd heard many stories of herself, but none of them could decide on what she looked like. Some said that she looked like an Elf, others an old woman. A smile crept up her thin lips, and she took a quick glance at herself in a clear, passing puddle.

She looked like a man, but she was a woman.

High cheekbones, a long, pointed nose, and stormy grey eyes defined the standing features of her face. A pretty face for a man, one might say, but nevertheless enough to pass as one. Her black hair was cut close to her face, giving her more of a convincing male appearance. It was untidy and tousled, just the way she liked it. Several yards of binding and a naturally deep voice for a woman was all that separated her from gender discovery. She also had her reputation.

"Lock the windows, dear, or else Longfingers will come!" A voice snapped her back into reality. She looked up. An old man reached out and shut the window, effectively locking it from the inside.

"Don't worry. Longfingers won't come here. We don't have anything of value," a muffled voice comforted the other one. Art shook her head and chuckled softly. Poor old fools. Maybe if all goes well, the Giving Ghost will come to Minas Tirith again. They could only hope.

She pulled her hood up and whipped her dark cloak around her in a dramatic fashion and made her way to the Old Guesthouse.

The inn was large and loud, bustling with activity. Art's boots made no sound as they walked down the paved road and led her to the door. Inside, she could hear loud, cheerful voices of men, all presumably drunk. She pushed the door open and walked in.

The innkeeper was a young man, probably in his late twenties. Art hated the fact that she was probably the youngest member of their group, but then again they had many hidden allies. Now that she thought about it, she only knew a few members of their vast numbers.

Pushing the thoughts away, the thief concentrated on the one thing that mattered. The wizard and his riches, whatever they were. Her daggers were safely tucked away, in case something bad happened. She hoped that it didn't. Not when she was dealing with a wizard.

Art pushed her way through the crowded tables, careful not to draw any attention. Fortunately, she passed without earning a second look from anyone. The innkeeper looked up from cleaning a glass and smiled at her.

"Hello," he said pleasantly. "What may I do for you? Perhaps you need a room? Or are you just here for a few drinks?"

"What hides during the day and prowls at night?" She said, clearly and quietly.

The innkeeper's face drained from all color for a moment, but then he returned into his previous merry attitude. "Ah!" He said in a considerably lower voice. "You are Miss Longfingers?"

"_Mr._ Longfingers," Art corrected him. "But just Longfingers will suffice."

"Yes, yes. He is in room 8." He handed her a key. "Best of luck."

Art took the key from the man's outstretched hand and wordlessly swept up the stairs. The man made a low whistle and continued to clean his glass.

Art pressed her ear against the wooden door. When she heard no sound, she relaxed. Perhaps the wizard was not in, maybe on some errand. It did not matter to her.

Inserting the spare key into its hole, Art began to turn it slowly, making no sound. Feeling apprehensive, she put a hand on one of her daggers, letting the familiar touch of her weapon calm her a bit.

Twisting open the brass doorknob, she found herself in a plain room. The bed looked unused, and none of the chairs or table have been moved around. Cautiously, she stepped inside, locking the door behind her. The first thing she did was open the window, in case a quick escape was needed.

Now her search truly began. Art started from the bed, but as she searched, she was almost sure that the room was unused. Confusion quickly followed as she checked the bathroom, the small drawer, and the tables. Where _could_ a wizard hide his possessions? A stream of doubt entered her mind. Perhaps this was the wrong room?

"Hello," An old voice said behind Art, startling her a great deal. "Whom have I to have the pleasure of meeting tonight?"

Art panicked and leapt for the open window, only to collide into it as it slammed shut on its own. She tried to tug it open, but the latch was firmly stuck. She turned to face the wizard and unsheathed a long dagger, just in case she needed it. She was more cautious than she had ever been before. She didn't know a wizard's limitations, and that scared her.

"There is no need for that," the wizard told her calmly. He seemed to take no threat in the phantom thief. "Why have you come?"

The wizard was old and tall, with long, silvery grey hair and a magnificent beard. He was dressed in long, grey robes, and a blue, wide-brimmed hat adorned the crown of his head. In his hand he held an old, wooden staff. Art eyed it warily. It didn't seem like it could do much, but a wizard was a wizard, after all.

"What is your answer, my friend?"

She wanted to lie and escape, but those piercing blue eyes paralyzed her. Almost against her will, she pulled out the crumpled note from her cloak and silently presented it to the wizard, who took the note with surprisingly strong fingers.

After reading the writing, the wizard sat down on the bed. Taking out a long, clay pipe, he lit it and blew smoke rings for a while, deep in thought. Art wasn't sure what to do; she did not want to anger the wizard, but all her body wanted to do was get away from the stranger.

Finally, the wizard snuffed out his pipe and returned it into the folds of his robes. "I do not know what you are here to steal, Art Longfingers, but if you are willing, I have may have some use for you," he said.

The confusion and amazement on Art's face caused the old wizard to chuckle. "Do you have family here?"

"No," she snapped quickly.

"Would anyone object to your absence in Gondor?"

A pause. A long, long silence settled in as Art thought. Would anyone miss her? Surely not. She shook her head.

"Would you be willing to go on an adventure with me?" The sudden question left her dumb as a board. An adventure? With the wizard?

Seeing her shocked face made the man chuckle again. "It won't be tremendously far. We will just be going to Rivendell."

Rivendell! Her mind soared. How many stories have she heard of Elven dwellings? As a child, she used to dream of the beautiful halls, the buildings and the gardens. Even now, she felt a surge of new energy inside her, urging her to take his request.

Her logical side pushed her instinctiveness back. Her dreams had vanished with her rough childhood, and all she cared about right now was to earn her living. Besides, who was the wizard, and what was he doing here? Could be he trustworthy? Why to Rivendell of all places? What connection did the queer old wizard have with the Fair Folk? What would the Elves think of her?

The wizard seemed to have read her mind. "All questions will be answered in due time," he said. "I will ask you again, will you come with me?"

"Yes."

Even her own answer shocked her. The word rang out, echoing through the room, reminding Art of her decision. She couldn't take it back. What sort of trouble was she going to get herself into?

The wizard smiled, and the crinkles at the sides of his eyes came to life. "We will leave tomorrow," he decided. "Pack your things tonight, my dear lad, and meet me downstairs at dawn. We will set off immediately."

As Art turned to leave, a sudden question made her turn around and face him again. He raised his bushy eyebrows. She said in a low and solemn voice, "What is your name?"

"I am Gandalf the Grey."

* * *

Once the Old Guesthouse was out of sight, Art took off running. Racing against the wind, she rounded corners and climbed up stairs until she came to the back door of a plain-looking house.

The door was locked, but that was no obstacle for her. Fishing her wires from her boots, she bent down and quickly disabled the mechanisms inside. She pushed open the door and immediately headed to her room, where she always stayed in Minas Tirith.

The room was small and unfurnished, with only a bed, bathroom and table in it. Her bag was on the far side of the bed, and a great many of her things were piled high among the floor, bed and mahogany table.

Weapons, small and large, lay neatly in a corner. Knives, daggers, a few swords, a rusty axe, and a spear lay within the throng of blades. Their polished edges reflected the light from a single lamp in the room, which stood by the edge of the table. On the table lay a variety of her possessions. Lock pick wires, keys strung up in a chain, worn leather gloves, polished mirrors, and other thievery trinkets were scattered along the top.

Her bed looked like it kept her whole wardrobe, which in truth, it did. Art was a woman, but no one was to know that. Instead of dresses or skirts, she had several pairs of breeches, pants, tunics and shirts. More, less beaten leather gloves were tossed aside on the pillows. Two pairs of traveling boots stood by the foot of the bed. Several pairs of underwear were piled neatly at one end, but overall it was an absolute mess.

"You really need to clean up," A familiar voice commented behind her. She turned around to face Zylus, a thief she met several years ago. The two were best friends and trusted each other completely, something that was dangerous in their line of work. He was the only living person that knew she was really a woman.

Zylus was handsome in most people's eyes, with rugged features from much hardship. Tall and stocky with honey-blonde hair, he was one of the Rohirrim, and fled into Gondor under the pseudonym of Zylus. He wasn't the best thief and had gotten captured a few times, but he was always able to pick is way out of trouble. His blue eyes danced with delight as he strode forward and hugged Art. She returned the hug, and then pulled away after a second. He smelled manly; she couldn't find any other word to describe it. He was a few years her senior, but the two treated each other with the same respect.

"I'm glad you came home," he smiled. Then he looked around and smirked at her disorganization. "You can fire a bow, kill a troop of soldiers, pick the most complicated lock, and dip your fingers into a rich man's pocket without him noticing, yet you cannot keep your own room clean. Fascinating."

She ignored him and picked up a belt from the floor. "I'm leaving early tomorrow."

This was no surprise to Zylus; work took them everywhere in Gondor. "Where to?" He inquired.

"Rivendell," she said, knowing the answer would surprise him.

It did, greatly. "_What?_"

"I'm traveling to Rivendell. I don't know why, but I guess I'll find out tomorrow." She picked out several daggers and tucked them into a few pairs of breeches and tunics.

"Are you going with anyone? Surely you do not know the way."

"I'm going with the wizard I was sent to steal from. His name is Gandalf the Grey." Art continued to ignore his surprise and continued to gather items from the heaps. A complete map of Middle-earth, her waterskin, a pair of leather gloves, her wires, a bag of medicine, and her bow.

"When are you going to return?" Art rolled her eyes. Typical concerned Zylus. Sometimes she regretted telling him that she was a woman. It did startle him a fair bit when she first did. Now he treated her like one when he forgot about her skills. Or maybe she was paranoid; it could be both.

"I don't know, but soon, I think. If I'm gone for a longer period of time, don't worry about me. I know how to handle myself."

"How are you going to get there?"

"On horseback, I'm guessing." Art shrugged and picked up a small bag of medicine and herbs. "I don't really know what was going on inside my head when I said yes. I suppose I just want a little adventure."

"Adventure? You get adventures every day, Art! How some would dream to be you! Leaping across rooftops, evading the guards, stealing into houses in the dead of night, isn't that an adventure?" Zylus said indignantly as she gathered more of her things.

"You don't see Elves every day, Zylus. I've never seen any other race except for Men." She picked up the last of her clothing and packed them all into her bag. Only the clothes that she planned to wear the following day were out, along with her weapons.

She turned to her friend. "I'm going to take a bath, and then go straight to sleep. Something tells me that I will need my energy tomorrow. Good night."

He blinked once, then said grimly, "I hope you're making the right decision. Good night." He walked out of the room and shut the door. Art sighed. Zylus did not approve of her decision, but he couldn't do anything about it. She was too stubborn for his words to sway her. It would need something stronger to get her to change her mind.

Art entered the bathroom and took a quick bath. She dried herself off, redid her bindings and went to bed, mulling over the odd events that happened that day. Eventually the reminder of the events tomorrow urged her to sleep, and she closed her eyes.

_End of Chapter 1._


End file.
